


Dark Memories of a Rigid Dictum

by orphan_account



Category: Hamlet 2
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 05:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The crazy goings-on behind the scenes of the production of Hamlet 2, the most insane theatre production Tucson, AZ has ever witnessed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Memories of a Rigid Dictum

**Author's Note:**

> There might be underage content because it'll be a stretch to imagine that all the students are 18.

Dana Marschz sat in his favorite rocking chair facing the window of his tiny, cluttered den in his tiny, cluttered Tuscon home. Years ago, he had decided to ignore the warnings of his parents, his friends, and the blind gypsy girl on the bus from Los Angeles, and moved to Arizona to discover an untapped source of inspiration in the desert. He stretched his arms above his head, his fingers grasping the muggy, bug-filled Arizona air as though trying to pull meaningful dialogue from the gods themselves. "But how does Laertes respond?" He whispered to himself. "He knows his mother is no bitch-hoe, but what does he say?" He tapped the keys of his heavy iron typewriter, deep in thought. 

He could hear his wife Brie in the other room, making herself a drink no doubt. She had no respect for his recovery and in fact seemed to taunt him with every martini she sipped while she sat staring malevolently at him, with every pina colada she insisted on ordering with dinner, with every bottle of whiskey he could smell on her breath when she leaned over and insulted him for deciding to become a high school drama teacher instead of the thousand other, less stupid jobs he could have spent his life doing. "I don't want to be a dental hygienist," he whispered under his breath as he typed furiously, recalling an argument they'd had only that evening. She had responded: "At least dental hygienists don't get paid in gas money, you giant, talentless fuck!" He knew she didn't mean it. She had been hitting the bottle pretty hard and she got ugly when she was inebriated. It was one of the factors that had gone into his decision to quit drinking a year ago.

He fussed with his mumu as his cat, Liza M., crawled underneath its cavernous folds and began to swat at his exposed, newly shaven man-meat as though it were an oddly shaped new toy hanging from her person's loins. Dana considered shooing the cat away, but the feel of her fur was oddly pleasant against his dejected penis. Brie had been trying to conceive for months before deciding that, as in all things, Dana was to blame. After a visit to the sketchiest doctor in Tucson--which is saying something as Tucson is the least fascinating city in a state known only for heat, drugs, and racism--Brie decided, with no input from Dana, that his little soldiers just needed to breathe. A few painful minutes later, Dana was as naked as a baby jay bird and his penis was as naked and raw as a baby jay bird's penis. Then came the mumu. To top it all off, Brie took one look at him, pathetic in his oversized dress, his penis looking somehow even smaller with his pubic hair gone, and decided that perhaps she no longer wanted to try for a baby. The only living creature that had touched Dana Marschz in the months that followed with any sort of fondness was Liza Minnelli, the cat.

In order to explain away his increasingly hardening member, Dana closed his eyes and pretended the fur stroking him was that of the real Liza Minnelli, the soft tongue was the same one that had kept an audience of mostly aging gays enthralled in her one-woman show "Liza with a 'Z'", the soft purring--oh, the soft purring as her whiskers stroked his infertile ballsack and-  
"Dana!"  
Dana leaped from his chair and bumped his knee against his typewriter. A scared Liza Minnelli sunk her claws into his penis. He yelped in pain and surprise. His eyes began to tear up and his vision blurred; he sat heavily onto his rocking chair. Brie was standing in the doorway, wine bottle in hand, disgust written on her face. "What are you doing?" She yelled across the room, swaying slightly with every word.

Dana scrambled to come up with something on the spot, which was surprisingly difficult for him considering that he was the self-proclaimed most creative mind on this side of San Xavier del Bac. After what seemed like an eternity to him but no time at all to his dried up nag of a wife who was drunk off her flat, unimpressive ass, Dana yelled: “You never touch me anymore!” Brie blinked twice and slurred out the words: “Are you masturbating on Liza Minnelli?”   
“It’s not like that! She came onto me!”  
“You...you...”  
Brie burst into fits of drunken laughter.   
“God, you’re a loser.” With those words, she collapsed onto the floor and seconds later began to snore as heavily as the hordes of homeless people that litter the arid streets of Tucson. Dana waited a couple of seconds and, determining that he was in the clear, shrugged. “Well, I guess that’s that,” he said to himself as he turned his attention back to his masterpiece.


End file.
